


Magically Cheerful

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Ficlet, Fluff, Post-War, Romance, The Quidditch Pitch: Eternity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-06-13
Updated: 2006-06-13
Packaged: 2018-10-26 14:42:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10788792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: Harry and Ginny, a lifetime, and cheering charms.Written for the OTP One Magical Year Challenge, using the Cheering Charm.





	Magically Cheerful

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes: Thanks to Aibhinn for the beta.  


* * *

Magically Cheerful 

The first time he cast the spell on her was after she'd spent an exhausting day of reinforcing wards around Gringotts' vaults. The vaults were sunk deep, deep into the ground, and the ride down was dizzying and nerve wracking – nothing at all like being on a broom where one controlled the plunge (though it’d been months since she’d had the pleasure). She was puffed up and green when she’d finally managed to Floo home, tired eyes swollen and lined, long hair caught in a drooping yellow ribbon. Harry was muttering by the stove about wizard cooking techniques when he’d taken one look at her, pulled out his wand (new: holly, with a strand of unicorn hair trapped inside) and aimed it at her head. Within seconds she was laughing. They’d burnt dinner that night, but neither had cared.

*

It became their ritual. His way of saying _let me take care of you_. Her way of telling him _you mean the world_. It was small, perhaps, but Ginny thought it better than receiving flowers curled up in gaily-colored cellophane, better than chocolates encased in bright red hearts. An instant _I love you_ , wrapped in magic.

*

When he’d rushed into the hospital room, his face lined in ways she’d never noticed before, she’d been holding a tiny pair of yellow socks, meant for little feet that, now, would never kick enthusiastically in the air in uncontrollable delight. His eyes said _I’m sorry; we’ll try again; let me make it better_. He’d reached to pull out his wand.

_Don’t_ , she had yelled, hating him suddenly, hating his ritual. _Don’t take this away from me_. She wanted to hold on to the pain, lock it away in her heart and mourn and cry and never forget. He couldn’t erase the pain with magic. Not this time.

He’d set his wand on the table and palmed her bright orange head.

That had been enough.

*

Months later, after tests, after yet another day of wands skimming her belly, of drinking potions, and listening to healers cluck and whisper, she’d returned home to find him sitting by the radio, listening half heartedly to a Cannons game announced in Ron’s boisterous voice. Her hair was short now, hacked off in a moment of rage. He’d promised he loved it. Made her eyes bigger, he’d said, though she once caught the shine of regret from his own when he studied her in the dying firelight.

That afternoon, he’d taken one look at her and pulled out his wand, his eyes hesitant and pleading. She’d nodded, once, slowly, and smiled after his spell had been cast. It wasn’t about the magic at all, she’d realized, letting him envelop her in his arms for the first time since before that day she’d ordered his wand out of her sight. At least, it wasn’t about the kind of magic that issued forth from wands. It was only about them, and it was more than enough.

*

There had been children eventually. Children with bright orange hair and green eyes and too many freckles to effectively count. There was magic as well, the sort that sent sparks from wands and the sort that took only Daddy's kiss on a scraped knee to stop tears and sobs and pitiful wails.

And whenever there’d been a day full of screams or uncooperative goblins or stews that looked more like sludge than anything edible, they’d pull out their wands and whisper words that caused tears of laughter to leak from their tired eyes.

*

They sit on their porch sometimes and watch the life they have made for each other stretch about around them. Lines crisscross his face deeply, and her hair has long ago changed from orange and burnt red to white. It falls down her back now. Though it’s thinner than it used to be, she catches him admiring it in the dying sunlight.

She smiles into his cheerful eyes, and shakes her head when he touches his pocket, where his crooked wand rests. They’ve had their share of sadness, but they’ve had enough laughter, it seems, to last over a dozen lifetimes. They have enough magic, Ginny knows, to last until the ends of forever.

End  



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